SEQUEL TO HOLD ME
"it's only human."
those are words that stick in the minds of eight boys who have found themselves closer than ever because of a year spent at the same college.
minsung, seungin, changhyunlix... and chan :')
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The next few times Minho met up with Jisung, sometime during each hang-out when they were somehow exposed to music, Jisung would dance and Minho would watch. And each time, Jisung subtly try to get Minho to join in. Sometimes by offering a hand— a soothing touch— as bait. Each time Minho turned him down.
He came around eventually. Jisung's determination wouldn't crumble, so Minho's, being ever-the-more fragile, did instead. Soon enough he went from straight-up refusing, like when they were at the lake, to making excuses. Like now.
Now, it was late into a summer evening and they were on Jisung's porch swing, at just past sunset with a deep, dark blue coating the sky as it passed into night. Minho had headed straight for the yellow-door house after a long, tiring day at work with a late shift. Being stressed and tired out, he wanted to be home, so the last thing he'd do would be to go back to his house. Instead, he went to Jisung.
And now he was home: Jisung's hand had eased itself around his, holding it loosely. So perfectly warm that Minho figured he'd end up sunburnt by the time they parted.
They sat swinging slowly while Jisung showed Minho some of the new music he'd been listening to. Mostly mellow, slow songs that fit a melted post-sunset mood: warm, hazy guitar and soothing vocals that made it hard not to give in to the urge to let his weary head drop onto Jisung's shoulder. But by the time the streetlights flickered on a few dozen feet away and the crickets started their serenade, the vibe changed.
"Oooh, listen to this one!" Jisung chirped. The strong, rapid beat that kicked in after the quickly-building intro of his next pick was jarring after the last few: a rude awakening when Minho had almost been put to sleep. Jisung's head bobbed enthusiastically to that beat, and his body, which had begun to conform to Minho's, now straightened up. He slid off the swing, pulling away from it, but not letting go of Minho. Their hands remained linked, suspended in the gap between them. Tension there, because neither let go; Minho stayed where he was, seated on the swing.
"Doesn't it just make you wanna dance?" Jisung asked, swaying loosely with a smile growing on his face, pressing his darling, round cheeks out further and further; scrunching up his big, sparkly eyes. But it wasn't one of those open-mouthed, gums-out, heart-shaped, pearly-white grins that looked so damn good on him. Minho could tell that their connection held Jisung back from enjoying himself the way he would have if Minho hadn't been stubbornly stuck in place— if he let go, Jisung could get into it without being anchored by Minho's stationary state.
Minho let his hand go limp, to let Jisung slip away. But Jisung didn't. He waited for the answer, hanging on (literally). And sweat began to rise on the back of his neck; probably his palms, too. Jisung would probably feel it.
"Well, I... I wasn't made to, uh... be a dancer. I just can't... do it." Having two left feet was something that must have run in his stiff-bodied, stiff-hearted family. Not that he'd ever seen any of them even try to dance. His family were the sort to take up the least amount of space possible; to section off a small stretch of world for themselves and keep to it, alone and motionless. So Minho knew he would never be able to move like that. Raised as a resident of an apathetic grey-blue haze, he must've been born without that vibrant, flowing spirit that inspired Jisung to groove the way he did. It wasn't in his blood.
